


A Look And A Voice

by cuttooth



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Consent Discussion, Explicit Consent, Internalized Acephobia, M/M, One Night Stands, PWP with softness, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Sexual Confusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 16:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21304895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttooth/pseuds/cuttooth
Summary: “Do you want to have sex with me?” Jon asks bluntly, and for a second Martin can’t breathe.“It - it doesn’t matter what I - ” he begins valiantly, before Jon interrupts him.“Because I want to have sex with you, and frankly it doesn’t matter if you think it’s for the wrong reasons. I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions. The only thing that matters is if you want to as well.”*Martin meets a guy in a bar and takes him home.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 102
Kudos: 985





	A Look And A Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Out of nowhere I was struck with the idea of Martin and Jon having an ill-advised one night stand pre-canon. This was the result, in which I project all over Jonathan Sims like the screen at a movie theater. 
> 
> Featuring Sexually Confused (But Slightly Less Stuffy!) pre-Institute Jonathan Sims, and Absolute Sweetheart (And Hopeless Romantic) Martin Blackwood.
> 
> Huge thanks to my wonderful beta [fatal_drum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatal_drum/pseuds/fatal_drum), whose feedback was invaluable. If you haven't read their fic, you're missing out!

_ “Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, _  
_ Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness; _  
_ So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, _  
_ Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.” _  
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Tales of a Wayside Inn

Martin really shouldn’t be here. He knew it as soon as he walked in the door, the garish, colored lights and too-loud music sweeping over him. He’s never been a fan of the bar scene, and the thought of going out _ alone _ on a Saturday night has always been too mortifying to consider. But Martin’s spent too many Saturday nights eating ready meals in front of the telly with a bottle of wine; something has to change. 

He’s never exactly been good at meeting people, is the problem. Much as he’s _ friendly _ with people at work, none of them have transitioned into being real friends. And the handful of hobby groups he joined never really went anywhere, either; he ended up dropping out of them all without any ongoing relationships to show for it. A man can only subsist so long on occasional after work drinks and chatting with Mr. Singh who runs the corner shop by Martin’s flat. So tonight, after a week of screwing up the courage, he’s in a bar. A gay bar, even. Because much as Martin would like to make friends, he can admit that what he really wants is to meet someone. Someone special, or - or _ something. _ That’s what people do in bars, isn’t it? Meet people, get to know them, and then maybe meet them again?

That was the idea, anyway, except Martin was definitely wrong in thinking that a busy weekend night would be the best time to actually _ find _ someone. The place is full of groups of friends, laughing and drinking, and the music is so loud he can barely even hear the barman. Even if anyone in here was looking to meet a new, slightly awkward person, holding a conversation would be basically impossible. So he’s ended up leaning at one end of the bar, nursing a Long Island Iced Tea that’s going rapidly warm, and trying to pretend he’s enjoying people-watching. 

_ Finish most of this drink, _ he thinks, _ then check your phone, act like you’ve got a text from one of your many friends, asking you to come to an even better bar. Then you can leave without looking pathetic. _

That’s the plan, at least, until he glances down the length of the busy bar and spots someone looking nearly as awkward as him. The man is a bit below average height, slim and dark and exactly Martin’s type. He’s holding a glass of something mixed with Coke and looking around the room with the expression of someone who doesn’t want to be where he is. Martin wonders if he’s waiting for someone. Maybe he’s been stood up, and Martin could sweep in to keep him company and charm a smile out of him. His mouth is currently pulled down unhappily at the corners, and Martin imagines saying something clever to make it curve with amusement. 

He indulges the fantasy for a while, watching the man nervously sip at his drink and avoid making eye contact with anyone. Martin has no intention of actually _ talking _ to him, of course. He’s long accepted the fact that going out tonight was a stupid waste of time and that there’s no way on earth Martin Blackwood is going to speak to a stranger in a bar. You might as well ask him to breathe underwater; it’s simply not going to happen. 

Except then the man looks down the bar in his direction, and meets Martin’s eyes. Glances away quickly, and Martin should do the same but he’s blushing just from that single moment of acknowledgment and he can’t stop staring. After a few moments, the man looks towards him again, almost shyly, and...gives a little smile. It’s wry and crooked, and it makes Martin’s heart beat faster. He smiles back, hoping it isn’t an idiotic grin. It probably is.

The man seems to consider for a moment, his brow furrowing, then gives a tiny shrug and pushes away from the bar. He disappears in the press of people trying to get served, and ducks back out of the crowd right by Martin. 

“Hi!” he shouts over the music. 

“Hi!” Martin shouts back. 

“I, uh, hope you don’t mind!” the man shouts; what Martin can hear of his voice is gorgeous, deep and rich. “I saw you were on your own, so, uh…”

“No, it’s - it’s fine!” Martin winces at the surprised shrillness of his own voice. _ Try to be at least a bit cool, Martin. _

“I’m Jon!” the man says, or at least something that sounds very much like that. Could be Don, but he doesn’t look much like a Don. _ Definitely more of a Jon, _ Martin thinks. _ Lovely Jon. _

“Martin!” he shouts back, gesturing at himself as if probably-Jon couldn’t figure it out from context clues. Almost-definitely-Jon gives another of those quick, crooked smiles, and offers Martin his hand to shake. Martin has the feeling it might be...weird, to shake hands with a guy you just met in a bar you’ve both come to alone (which _ has _ to have connotations, right?) but he also doesn’t have enough experience with meeting guys in bars to be sure. He takes the hand, which is thin and long fingered, and shakes it.

“Have you been here before?” he says, or tries to, but at that moment the volume of the music jumps up even further and drowns out his very original chat up line. Jon gives a visible wince at the escalation, glances around at the crowd and then back at Martin. He leans in close, and Martin’s mouth goes dry. 

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” he shouts into Martin’s ear, and it’s intimate as a whisper. 

“Yeah,” Martin says, breathless at the implication. Jon nods, as if that’s agreed then, and makes for the door. Martin sets his half a lukewarm drink down on the bar, grabs his jacket, and follows. He feels like he’s following some fey creature from a fairytale, like he’s going to be led under the hill and far away, as people were in the stories his mum used to tell him, when he was very small.

It’s silly, of course, and when he steps outside it’s only Jon waiting for him, hands in the pockets of his jeans, the pounding music fading into the background. It’s not cold, but Martin feels a shiver run through him anyway. Jon is watching him very intently, and Martin has the sudden horrible feeling that under the harsh fluorescence of the street lights, he’s going to be found painfully wanting. 

“So, where do you want to go?” he asks gamely. His ears are still ringing a little from the music, and he thinks he might be talking too loud. “There’s a nice pub just a few minutes from here that’s a bit quieter - or we could go and get coffee?”

“Your place,” says Jon, and there is a determination in his tone that Martin can’t quite parse. “If - I mean, if that’s okay. If you want to?”

Martin’s heat is beating fast again, his thoughts racing. One night stands are not his thing, but then he’s never been so brazenly propositioned by a good looking guy. He’s half convinced there’s some sort of mistake, but Jon is still looking at him, _ seeing _ him, and he seems to be sure of what he wants.

“Right,” Martin says. “My place. Sure. Sounds...good!”

He hails a cab because even though the tube is still running, it’s two connections to get to his flat, and that isn’t exactly suave. Cabs are a rarity on a researcher’s wages, but he thinks the occasion justifies it. 

They’re both quiet on the journey. Martin desperately tries to think of good conversational gambits, but anything he can think of makes it far too obvious that this is a stranger he’s picked up. Despite the fact that the cab driver certainly couldn’t care less, the mortification of someone knowing he’s headed to a one night stand is too much.

_ It might not be a one night stand, _ his brain supplies, treacherous and hopeful. _ He might decide he really likes you, and want to see you again. Maybe he doesn’t even want to have sex, he wants to get to know you. _ The thought that this man might actually want to _ get to know _him is somehow even more stressful than the idea of having sex with a stranger. Martin shoves the thoughts away; worrying about it won’t help.

He catches Jon throwing quick glances at him from time to time, a frown on his face that looks less like annoyance and more like consideration. Martin privately thinks it’s pretty cute.

Mercifully, they reach Martin’s flat at last, and he scarcely even fumbles his keys in the front door. Jon looks around as he walks inside, assessing; Martin is immensely grateful that he tidied up only a couple of days ago. 

“You live on your own?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Martin says, setting his keys down. “I thought about getting a flatmate - so I could afford a place closer to work? But the idea of living with a stranger...creeped me out a bit, I suppose.”

Thankfully, Jon doesn’t comment on the fact that Martin apparently doesn’t have any mates he could have considered living with. Martin gestures towards the sofa.

“Make yourself at home,” he says. “Would you, umm, like a drink?” He might have some cheap beer in the fridge and there’s half a bottle of red wine on the counter that’s probably been open too long to still be drinkable. Bit of a pathetic offering, but he can’t take it back now. 

“Oh, no, I’m - I’m fine. Had a couple of drinks already, earlier.” Jon perches the edge of the sofa, looking more anxious than he has since Martin met him. “I, uh, I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea, if it’s going?”

“Right!” Martin says. “Of course, not a problem.” Tea, that he can do. He puts the kettle on and then busies himself getting mugs and tea bags and milk. “How do you take it?”

“One sugar, and a little bit of milk? It’s fine without sugar as well, if you don’t have it - ”

“No, no, I have sugar. Piles of sugar!” Martin hastens to reassure him. The kettle boils after an eternity, and he carries two mugs of tea over to the sofa. Jon takes one, blows on the steaming surface and then takes a sip.

“Thanks,” he says. “You, uh, mentioned work - what do you do?”

“Oh, I - I’m a researcher.”

“In a lab, or…?”

“No, no I...work for the Magnus Institute? I don’t know if you’ve heard of it.”

The way Jon’s eyebrows raise tells Martin that he has heard of it. 

“Right…” he says. “So, uh, hauntings and things?” The tone of his voice says he’s trying to be polite. Martin shrugs.

“Some of it,” he says. “Mostly it’s just people who are lonely, or scared, and want someone to listen to them. I get sent on a lot of the follow up interviews? A, uh, a lot of my colleagues aren’t...great at people stuff. But I like it. Every once in a while, though, there’s something... properly spooky, you know?”

Jon makes a noncommittal sound and takes another sip of his tea, clearly biting his tongue. It’s fine, Martin’s used to people being skeptical about his job. He decides to change the subject before Jon gets put off entirely.

“What about you? What do you do?”

“Oh, I - I’m in my last year at uni, actually. At Oxford. I’m just in London for the weekend.” Martin’s more than a bit surprised to hear he’s still a student; he’d assumed Jon had at least a few years on him. Something that might be envy clenches in Martin’s chest at the matter of fact way he mentions Oxford, but he pushes it away. 

“Visiting mates down here?” 

“Not exactly.” Jon looks down at his tea awkwardly. “I, uh, I just needed to get away for a couple of days.” He looks embarrassed to be admitting it, and Martin wants to reassure him.

“I get it. It’s a lot of pressure, uni.” _ As if you’d know, _his brain supplies, but he ignores it. “Everyone needs to get away from it all once in a while.”

Jon gives him a smile that’s stiff, but genuine. Martin smiles back, and takes a drink of his tea. At this point he can’t tell if he’s going to have sex, or spend the night counseling a stressed student, and he doesn’t really think he minds. There’s something painfully sincere about Jon, behind his stoic demeanor. Something sensitive and uncertain, despite his efforts to seem in control. Martin feels suddenly protective towards him.

He gets an answer to his unspoken thought when Jon sets his mug down on the coffee table, turns to Martin with a determined little frown, and kisses him. It’s a clumsy kiss, and Martin’s not expecting it so he fails to really react at all, other than nearly dropping his tea in surprise. Jon pulls back and looks away again.

“Sorry,” he says, “That was - ”

“No, no, it was good,” Martin hastens to assure him. “You just took me by surprise, is all.”

Jon takes a deep breath, and Martin is shocked to see his eyes red rimmed, as if he’s about to cry. He’s not quite sure what to do. Normally in a situation like this he’d offer to make tea, but he’s already done that. Instead he reaches out and pats Jon’s hand, where it’s clenched into an unhappy fist on the sofa.

“Look, are you all right?” he asks. “I can call you a cab, if you like - do you have somewhere to stay? Or you can stay here. On the sofa, I mean,” he adds hastily. “If you want.”

Jon shakes his head fiercely, blinking the wetness out of his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he insists. “And I didn’t come home with you because I want to sleep on your sofa.” 

The plain insistence of his words sends heat crawling up Martin’s neck. He lets his hand rest over Jon’s, as it slowly unclenches. 

“Why did you come home with me, then?” Martin asks, the question he’s been wanting to ask since Jon first made eye contact with him across the bar. _ Why me? _ Jon scowls, and huffs out a sharp breath.

“Fine,” he says. “If you must know, I...just broke up with my girlfriend, a few weeks ago. It was...not good.”

“Was it - ” Martin hesitates, because it’s probably none of his business, then asks anyway. “Was it because you’re gay?”

“No!” Jon snaps. “I mean, I don’t know, maybe? I...really loved her, but…something wasn’t - I don’t know. Maybe I’m...bisexual or something? I’ve never - ” His cheeks color and he shuts his mouth. Martin stays quiet; Jon will talk when he’s ready. After a few moments he continues.

“I’ve never...been with a man. That’s why I’m - I wanted to, to try it, and I didn’t want to run into anyone I knew in Oxford, because it’s none of their business, so I came down to London.” 

His eyes raise to meet Martin’s, oddly vulnerable, and his hand turns over so their fingers lace together.

“When I saw you,” he says, “I thought you looked...really nice.”

_ Nice_, right. Martin’s been called worse, and okay, maybe it’s a blow to his ego that Jon didn’t find him devastatingly attractive, rather than someone _ nice _ for a bit of safe sexual experimentation, but it does rather make sense of the whole situation. 

“And, uh,” Jon says, shyly, “I’ve always liked red hair.”

And honestly, what is wrong with Martin, because those few quiet words send a thrill through him. He takes a deep breath. He needs to be responsible here. Jon’s clearly upset by his break up, and sexually confused, and Martin is the experienced one, which considering the limited scope of his own experience doesn’t bode well for either of them. But the point is, he can’t take advantage.

“This is probably not a good idea,” he says, though he still doesn’t take his hand from Jon’s. “I don’t know that you’d be doing this for the right reasons.”

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Jon asks bluntly, and for a second Martin can’t breathe. 

“It - it doesn’t matter what I - ” he begins valiantly, before Jon interrupts him.

“Because I want to have sex with you, and frankly it doesn’t matter if you think it’s for the wrong reasons. I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions. The only thing that matters is if you want to as well.”

His brow is furrowed and his deep brown eyes hold Martin’s like a trap, and Martin’s struggling to remember how to breathe. It’s probably not the principled thing to do, but damn it, how often does Martin have an attractive man on his sofa practically insisting on sleeping with him? Almost never, is how often. And if Jon really is...confused, then maybe Martin can help him to figure it out? Be the nice person Jon thinks he is. Better him than some stranger who might not care that Jon is vulnerable and hurting. 

“I want to,” he says, “Of course I do, you’re - ” _ Lovely _, he doesn’t say, because he’s not sure Jon would appreciate it. Instead he says: “Can I kiss you?”

Jon nods, licking his lips unconsciously. Martin keeps holding his hand as he moves slowly towards Jon, giving him plenty of time to say something or back away. Jon doesn’t, so Martin brushes a light kiss against his lips, then leans back.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” Jon says, and his rich voice is gone softer, a little breathless. Martin kisses him again, and lets it linger this time, until Jon responds in kind, his mouth moving carefully against Martin’s. Martin kisses him slowly and thoroughly, and the hand that isn’t twined with Jon’s comes up to gently cup his cheek. Jon leans into the touch with a quiet sound. 

They kiss for what feels like forever, gradually exploring. By the time they pull apart, Martin’s whole body is alive with desire, his lips buzzing with sensation. Jon’s cheeks are faintly flushed.

“Do you want to...go to bed?” Martin asks. A nervous flicker passes across Jon’s face, but he nods.

“Yeah.”

Martin leads the way into the bedroom. Jon pauses on the threshold, looking uncertain, and Martin stops as well. 

“Are you sure?” he says. “We don’t have to.”

“No, I - I want to. It’s just...new, you know?”

“Okay,” says Martin, and sits down on the edge of the bed. Jon sits beside him, and they kiss again. This at least is familiar now, and Jon leans into it eagerly. His hands come up onto Martin’s shoulders as they kiss, and when Martin’s hands rest in the small of his back, he doesn’t shy away. 

After a while, Martin shifts back on the bed, tugging Jon gently with him, arms loose around him in case Jon wants to break away. Jon goes with him, and ends up lying half on top of Martin, his thigh stretched out between Martin’s. He shifts his weight and makes a surprised noise as Martin’s erection presses into his hip. 

“Still okay?” Martin asks. In his experience this is where _ experimentation _ usually falls apart. He’s met several guys who were fine with kissing, but recoiled at the hard reality - pun intended - of another man’s cock. 

“Fine,” says Jon. “All good.” It’s not the most enthusiastic go-ahead Martin’s ever got, but he’s starting to get the impression that Jon isn’t the loudly enthusiastic sort. 

“Good,” Martin says, and slips his hands up the back of Jon’s t-shirt. His skin is warm and dry, and it feels perfect under Martin’s palms. Jon lets him ruck the t-shirt most of the way up so he can stroke over Jon’s ribs, then he sits up and tugs it off over his head. He’s slim and slight, just the way Martin imagined, a hint of softness around his belly, his torso dusted with the same dark hair as his arms. He has tiny, dusky pink nipples, and Martin’s mouth waters at the sight of them. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he tells Jon, sincerely, and Jon glances away, embarrassed. He starts tugging at Martin’s t-shirt as well, and Martin removes it with more than a little reluctance. He’s never been a fan of letting people see his naked body. It’s stupid, because it isn’t as if he’s hiding the fact that he’s fat under a t-shirt, but he feels so much more exposed, like this. Compared to Jon he’s pale and flabby, spattered with freckles and with a thatch of ginger chest hair. 

If any of those things bother Jon, though, he doesn’t let on. Very carefully, he rests his hands on Martin’s shoulders and starts petting over his torso, from his shoulders to his chest to his belly. He combs his fingers through Martin’s chest hair, and touches the faded pink stretch marks that he’s always been so self conscious about. His expression as he does so is one of curiosity, as if he’s trying to figure something out, and it’s not exactly unbridled lust, but it’s certainly not the worst reaction Martin’s ever had. 

The way he’s touching Martin is gentle and inquisitive and it probably shouldn’t be as arousing as it is, but there is something about his intense scrutiny and careful, near-clinical caresses that sends waves of heat through Martin. He’s almost painfully hard by now, and he’s probably going to do himself an injury if he doesn’t get out of his jeans soon. 

“Jon,” he gasps. “Jon...what do you want?”

Jon looks down at him, and circles his hips deliberately against Martin’s. Martin groans and thrusts up against him. Jon isn’t hard, he notices, but before he can think any more about that, Jon leans forward and kisses him sweetly.

“I thought...well, I thought I’d like to try penetration,” he says matter of factly, and Martin almost blacks out. He pulls himself together through sheer force of will, though his cheeks are burning.

“You mean you want to…? Or - or you want _ me _ to?”

“I was imagining that I’d be the one being penetrated,” Jon says stiffly, and honestly how is such dry, clinical talk so sexy in his mouth? 

“Right!” Martin squeaks embarrassingly. “We can - I mean, I think we can arrange that.”

Jon stands up and starts stripping off the rest of his clothes, and Martin follows suit, shimmying out of his jeans and pants, a blessed relief to his aching erection. The rest of Jon is just as lean and lovely, narrow hips and slim legs. His cock hangs soft between them, looking almost delicate within its crinkled foreskin. Martin desperately wants to touch it.

“How do you, ah, want me?” Jon asks. He looks anxious, which Martin can understand. First time trying something new can be a bit daunting. What Martin would really like to do is pull Jon back into his arms, kiss him and stroke his cock to hardness, and have him moaning into Martin’s mouth before they do anything else. But Jon doesn’t seem inclined to return to their earlier position. Maybe he’s just impatient to get to the main event. Martin smiles at him in a way he hopes is reassuring.

“Well, we can’t just jump straight into it,” he says. “We need a bit more preparation first. Lie down on your back?”

Jon gets back on the bed as Martin goes digging in his bedside cabinet. He always has plenty of lube close to hand – pun once again very much intended – and he thanks his lucky stars that he’s got a box of condoms that don’t look too old. He surreptitiously checks the expiration date, and when he turns back with the lube, Jon’s laid with his legs stretched straight out, his hands folded across his stomach like he’s on a doctor’s examination table. He’s looking even more nervous now, and Martin’s conscience prods at him.

“Look, Jon, are you sure you’re okay? You don’t really seem like you’re enjoying yourself much.”

“I’m _ fine,” _ Jon says, sounding almost irritated. He reaches down and gives his cock a quick stroke, as if hoping to nudge it to life. “It’s – it’s always taken me a while to…get into things. Low sex drive, or what have you. But I am enjoying myself, honestly.”

His voice softens as he says that, and Martin melts. Something still niggles at him, but right now, with most of the blood in his body diverted away from his brain, he’s willing to let himself be convinced. He leans down, careful not to put any weight onto Jon, and brushes a dry kiss against his lips.

“Okay,” he says. “Bend your knees, then.” This might be easier with Jon lying on his front, but Martin wants to see him. And he thinks this might feel less vulnerable for Jon as well, when he can see what’s happening and has use of his hands. Jon hitches his legs up, feet flat on the mattress, and Martin gets between them, placing his hands gently on Jon’s knees.

“Can I suck you off a bit, first?” he asks. Jon shifts uncomfortably.

“You don’t need to,” he says. “I, uh, don’t usually – ”

“I’d like to. But if you’d prefer I don’t, that’s completely fine.” Martin’s never before met a guy who was reluctant to have his cock sucked, but there’s a first time for everything. Jon looks relieved.

“Thanks,” he says, as if Martin was doing him a favor. “It just…doesn’t really do much for me. And then people feel bad about it.”

“You don’t have to explain,” Martin tells him, wondering if _ feeling bad about it _ is a euphemism for a rather less pleasant reaction. That feeling of protectiveness washes over him again. “If you don’t want me to do something, I won’t. That simple, I promise.”

“Right.” Jon flashes him a tight smile. Martin picks up the lubricant.

“If we’re going to – to try penetration, I’ll need to touch you, umm, intimately.” He thinks using Jon’s dry terminology back to him might make him more comfortable. “Is that okay?”

“Yes, it’s fine,” Jon says, frowning a little. “I – I understand the mechanics.”

“Just making sure you’re all right with it.”

“I am,” Jon says tersely. “Verbal consent and everything.”

Martin uncaps the tube, and then on second thought, grabs a pillow and slides it beneath Jon’s hips.

“This’ll make it easier,” he explains, and Jon shimmies to accommodate him, providing Martin a very nice view indeed. Martin coats one finger in lube, and then meets Jon’s gaze.

“Ready?” he says, and at Jon’s assent: “This might feel a bit cold. Tell me if you want me to stop at any point, okay?”

_ “Yes, _Martin,” Jon almost snaps, wriggling his hips impatiently. It’s endearing, Martin thinks, and presses his slippery finger between Jon’s arse cheeks, finding the pucker of his hole. He can feel Jon tensing, and when Martin glances up, his expression is taut. 

“Okay?” he says, and Jon nods briskly. Martin circles the tip of his finger gently against the tight muscle, just trying to get Jon used to the sensation. Gradually the muscle loosens under his touch, and Martin is reminded of Jon’s hand on the sofa earlier, unclenching slowly beneath his. He presses his fingertip in, just a bit, and Jon lets out a sharp breath. He’s chewing his lower lip when Martin looks up at him, but his eyes on Martin’s are steady.

“Keep going,” Jon tells him. Martin does, slowly, twisting his finger carefully to work it further in. Jon is tense with concentration, breathing shallowly, and his body is incredibly tight and hot. 

“You’re doing really well,” Martin tells him, and Jon shoots him a look that’s halfway between annoyed and pleased. At last Martin’s finger is in him all the way to the knuckle, and he pauses.

“How does that feel?” 

“A bit...weird,” Jon admits, his brow creased. His hips shift slightly against Martin’s hand. “What, ah, what happens now?”

“This,” Martin tells him, and pulls his finger nearly all the way out before sinking back into Jon again. Jon makes a surprised sound.

“That’s a, uh, a very interesting sensation.” 

Martin keeps going, gently twisting and sliding his finger, while Jon makes quiet, breathy noises, his thighs falling further apart. He can see that Jon’s cock is starting to fill slowly, hardening against his hip as Martin works inside him. Martin probes carefully until he finds the little bump of Jon’s prostate, and when he strokes his finger firmly over it, Jon’s mouth falls open and his hips twitch up. 

“Good?” Martin asks.

“Yes…” Jon breathes, “That’s...very good.” 

“Good,” Martin says, and does it again, rubbing against Jon’s prostate until he’s moaning softly, his cock fully hard. Martin draws his finger all the way out, and squeezes more lubricant over both index and middle fingers this time.

“Ready for a bit more?” 

Jon nods and spreads his legs, and Martin wonders if he has any idea how gorgeous and wanton he looks. He’s flushed across his face and down to his chest, his cock standing up stiff and urgent between his splayed thighs. Jon’s eyes are dark and shining when they meet Martin’s. 

Martin presses both fingers against Jon’s hole, and it opens more easily for him now, the muscle slick and stretched. Jon makes a low, throaty sound as Martin’s fingers slide all the way inside him. The tight clench of Jon’s body is intoxicating, the tiny movements of his hips as Martin’s fingers fuck him. Martin finds his prostate again, and Jon groans loudly, his head twisting against the pillow.

“Can I touch you?” Martin asks. “Your cock?”

Jon somehow manages to blush even deeper red, and he bites his lip. 

“Yes,” he says, and his eyes flutter closed when Martin’s fingers close around his shaft. He is hot and hard in Martin’s hand, precome slicking the head of his cock where it’s pushing out of its foreskin. Martin rubs a thumb gently over the sensitive slit, and Jon gasps. Martin begins stroking him in long, smooth motions, while the fingers of his other hand tease at Jon’s prostate, and every moan and whimper he drags out of Jon goes straight to Martin’s own cock. 

“Martin!” Jon gasps, “Martin, I’m going to - to come, if you don’t stop!”

“Do you want me to stop?” 

Jon’s head shakes, his hair tossed against the pillow. He squeezes his eyes shut even tighter.

“No,” he pants, “Don’t - don’t stop.”

Martin doesn’t, listens to Jon’s breath grow ragged as his orgasm builds, his chest heaving and his mouth hanging open. Jon keeps his eyes closed, and Martin might be a bit hurt by that, but he doesn’t think Jon is imagining someone else, simply focusing on the physical sensations. He’s so lovely like this that Martin could come just from watching him; his cock is throbbing with need. 

Martin sees the exact moment Jon tips past the point of no return, his hips bucking helplessly, soft little whimpers pouring from his mouth, culminating in a drawn out moan as his arse clenches around Martin’s fingers, his cock spilling hot over Martin’s hand and his own belly. Martin strokes him gently through it, stilling his hand as the aftershocks die away. He releases Jon’s spent cock, and Jon hisses quietly as he withdraws his fingers. 

“Okay?” Martin asks, and he’s not sure if he’s asking if Jon is okay, or if the sex was okay, but either way Jon nods. He glances down at his come spattered belly, wincing. Martin grabs his discarded pants - he’s going to be washing them anyway - and wipes off Jon’s skin and his own hands. 

“Thank you,” Jon says, his voice rough, and Martin laughs.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he says. “Like I did you a favor or something. I liked making you feel good.”

“Well…” Jon frowns uncomfortably. “You haven’t, umm, orgasmed yet. We could still - I mean, you’ve, you’ve _ prepared _ me, right?”

Martins cock twitches at the thought of sinking into Jon’s tight, warm body. But he’s the responsible one here. Jon’s just had his first sexual experience with a man, and Martin doesn’t want to sour it for him by pushing too far. He’ll just wait for Jon to leave and then have probably the quickest wank of his life, because he feels like he’ll come the second he touches himself.

“I’m fine,” Martin tells him. “It’s...it takes a lot of energy, and I’m pretty wiped out. If that’s okay with you?”

“All right,” Jon concedes, and Martin knows he’s not imagining the note of relief in his voice. He would have gone through with it, Martin thinks, out of sheer stubborn determination. Jon sits up to face him.

“I could, uh, suck you off?” he suggests tentatively. “I’ve never done that before, but I - I wouldn’t mind trying?”

“No, really, it’s fine,” Martin starts to say, but Jon interrupts by ducking in and kissing him. 

“I’d like to.” The sincerity in Jon’s voice makes Martin’s breath catch in his throat. 

“If - if you’re sure…?”

“I am,” says Jon. “Lie down.”

Martin does, and his heart is pounding out of his chest as Jon kneels between his legs. Jon looks more confident than he has since taking his clothes off, as if taking care of someone else’s needs is something he knows. He leans in and his lips close around the leaking head of Martin’s cock, and Martin can’t help the low gasp that escapes him. Jon takes the first couple of inches into his mouth and wraps his hand around the rest. Martin groans. 

“That feels wonderful,” he says, and reaches down to cup the back of Jon’s skull. Jon makes a pleased sound, so Martin keeps touching him, pushing his hand into Jon’s thick, soft hair, scratching at his scalp. 

Jon sucks wetly on the head of his cock, his hand clumsily fisting the shaft. It’s not a skilled blow job, but Martin is already beyond aroused from getting Jon off, and Jon’s enthusiasm sets him moaning, his hips twitching as he physically holds himself back from thrusting into Jon’s wet, hot mouth.

“You’re amazing,” he gasps, “That feels so good, god, Jon, you’re so good.” He knows he’s babbling but Jon has to know how wonderful this feels, how much Martin wants him and appreciates him. It’s important, he thinks. Martin feels his climax coming on, embarrassingly quickly but somehow he can’t bring himself to care about that. 

“Jon,” he says urgently, “I’m going to - you might want to move - ”

Jon only sucks harder, his hand speeding up on Martin’s cock, and Martin whines as orgasm floods through him, his cock pulsing into Jon’s hot, lovely mouth. He lies there for a few seconds, just breathing, his hand still petting idly over Jon’s hair as Jon’s hand stills on his cock. Jon’s mouth releases him, and he sits up, making a face as he licks his lips. 

“That’s...ugh.” 

“The taste is definitely not the main selling point.” Martin can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes him, and Jon huffs a quiet laugh as well. 

“No, I can’t imagine it would be.” 

Martin feels boneless and euphoric, and more than anything he wants to touch Jon again, now that the messy part is over. Wants to make sure this experience was good for him. He stretches an arm out in invitation. 

“C’mere?’ he suggests, and Jon does with only a little hesitation, his head pillowed on Martin’s chest. Martin manages to maneuver the duvet over both of them, and wraps one arm around Jon’s slim frame. 

“So,” he says. “How was that? For your, umm, your first time with a guy?”

“It was...nice.” Jon’s tone is uncertain, and Martin feels a sudden surge of anxiety. God, was this horrible for him, and Martin never noticed, too caught up in his own selfish pleasure?

“You’re sure?” he asks. “I won’t be - upset or anything, if it wasn’t. That was the whole point, right? To figure out if you’d like it.”

“No, no, it was - it felt good. The...I really - I liked kissing you. A lot. I think…” Jon glances up at him, and his expression is oddly shy. “I think I can definitely confirm that, uh, that I like guys. So that’s...good.” 

“But…?” Martin can tell that there’s something else, some unhappiness or strain right behind Jon’s eyes. Jon looks away again, and after a moment he gives a deep, trembling sigh.

“I - I don’t know,” he says, his voice shaky. “It was all - it was nice. Really. And this - ” he curls closer, turning his head into Martin’s shoulder. “This feels so good. I was hoping that this would help me, I don’t know, figure it out? But it’s the same as with Ge - as with my, my ex. I just. I don’t know what’s wrong.” 

He sounds so sad and bewildered that Martin’s heart aches for him. Martin wraps both arms around him and Jon trembles against him. He feels wetness on his skin, and hears Jon make a low, pained sound. Martin holds onto him. 

“Maybe…” he says after a minute, quietly. “Maybe you’re just not that into sex? Some people aren’t. It’s not a big deal.” 

Jon takes a long, shuddering breath, and looks up at him. His eyes are red rimmed and wet. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding ashamed. “You’ve barely met me and I’m - god, I’m sorry. _ Fuck.” _

“It’s okay,” Martin tells him gently. “Sex is, well, it can be sort of an emotional thing? Good and bad. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m - I’m fine, thank you. I should - I should probably get going, actually.”

“If you want. But you’re welcome to stay as well.”

“No, I - no. I’d better…”

Jon looks self-conscious now. He disengages and slips out of the bed, and Martin gets up as well, pulling on tracksuit pants and a sweatshirt as Jon gets dressed. Martin calls him a taxi, and they sit in slightly awkward silence in the living room until it arrives. At last, Martin’s phone alerts him that the cab has arrived.

“Do you want some money for the cab?” he asks tentatively. “It’s expensive going into the city, and you’re a student…”

“It’s fine,” says Jon, stiffly. “I have enough cash.”

“Right. Well, do you, uh, do you want my phone number? In case there’s any problem, or...?”

“Oh, uh - okay, yeah.” Jon types Martin’s number into his phone as he calls it out.

“Or if you ever just want to talk,” Martin blurts out, feeling his face go red again. Jon looks startled, but gives a weak smile. 

“Thank you, Martin,” he says. “Really. I - I’m glad I met you.”

“Me too,” says Martin, and hesitates for a second before pulling Jon into a hug. Jon stiffens against him for a second, then relaxes into it, his face pressing into Martin’s shoulder and his arms going around Martin’s middle. 

Martin holds him like that for as long as he can. He wants to tell Jon not to worry so much, that there’s nothing wrong with him. To be happy with who he is, because there’ll be people in his life who will appreciate him for it. But Martin doesn’t have the right to say those things to someone he’s barely met, so instead he just holds Jon tight, and presses a kiss into his hair. Jon makes a soft, choked sound against him. 

Outside the taxi horn blares impatiently, and Jon startles away from him. His eyes are still red rimmed, but his expression is a little happier. 

“Bye,” he says, and opens the door. 

“Bye, Jon.”

The door shuts, and Martin lets out a long sigh. Time for a cup of tea, he decides. He goes and puts the kettle on, and as he’s waiting for it to boil, his phone buzzes. He picks it up and sees a text from an unknown number.

_ Hi. Thought you should have my number too. Just in case. -Jon _

Martin smiles to himself, and saves the number in his phone as “Jon (Voice)”, because he’ll be hearing that rich, rolling timbre in his dreams. 

He knows he probably won’t hear from Jon again, too busy graduating from Oxford and then going off to whatever posh job it is that Oxford graduates end up in. There isn’t a world where a clever, gorgeous guy like Jon seeks out someone like Martin for more than...whatever tonight was. It’s fine. Martin’s always had a need to help when he sees someone hurting. He’s glad he was able to be there for Jon, to be the person he needed, even if only for a night. 

Wherever Jon ends up in his life, Martin hopes that he’ll find the people who’ll love him. As long as he has that, Martin thinks, he’ll be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me [@cuttoothed](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cuttoothed) on tumblr.


End file.
